of a jar. The key was to arrange them on the tray so that they looked good. After this, I was going to do mushroom vol-au-vents.
‘Well,’ said a familiar voice. ‘You are a sight to behold.’
I jumped. He was standing in the doorway. I wondered how long he had been there.
He was wearing an expensive-looking shirt and jeans. Sarah had gone to change, but Harry Summer really was going to wear jeans to his own party. His hair was glossier than ever, and his high cheekbones and friendly, open smile made me want to stroke his face, though I hoped against hope that he could not tell this by looking at me.
‘Hello,’ I said, feeling the heat rising to my face, hating it.
He walked right over to me, put a hand on my waist and kissed my cheek. I held my breath to make sure I didn’t breathe anything nasty on him, and kissed the air.
‘Now we’ve met properly,’ he said. ‘And we are so grateful that you’re here, Lily. Neither Sarah nor I are much cop in the kitchen, I’m afraid. And look, you’ve nearly sorted us out already.’
His hand was still on my waist.
‘It’s no problem at all,’ I said. He made me feel like the only person in the world who mattered. I knew he must do that to everyone, and that was why he used to be on TV and everyone loved him. My face was sizzling, and I realised that Julia was right: blusher was unnecessary.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘a drink is called for. We can pay you in champagne.’ He looked at my face. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he added. ‘We’ll pay you money too.’ As he went to the fridge, he carried on talking. ‘My brother was extremely taken with you, as you know. A gorgeous young woman walking in on him in the bath is exactly the kind of fantasy he’d come up with, in an idle moment.’
‘Mmm.’ I did not trust myself to speak. He popped the champagne cork, holding it firmly to stop it flying across the room. I had, of course, never tasted champagne.
‘Or, if he wasn’t making it up, I presumed he was massively exaggerating. And then Jasmine took him back and we forgot all about the fact that our cleaner was supposedly a nubile young woman with pre-Raphaelite hair, who was funny too. He even badgered me for your phone number, the scurrilous old goat.’
I reminded myself not to let anything I was feeling show on my face, and I tried to look casual. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I said nothing, and started to set out the vol-au-vent cases on the surface, ready for filling. Harry handed me a glass of champagne, then picked up one of my goat’s cheese concoctions.
I had never imagined that anyone but my poor dead grandparents would ever think I was special. Now Harry was saying lovely things to me, and his brother had wanted my phone number. I wondered what Fergus would have said, had he rung me up.
‘Why can’t I throw things together like this?’ Harry demanded. ‘Or, why can’t one of us? You’d think that out of Sarah and me, one person, statistically, would not be a total disaster in the kitchen.’
‘It was your wife who got all the ingredients,’ I said. ‘And she left me all the recipes. I’m just putting different bits on top of each other. So it is her doing it, really. She’s the statistical winner.’
‘Oh Lord. You’re a diplomat, Lily. What the hell are you doing cleaning houses?’
I thought it was a rhetorical question, and so I did not answer.
He hung around the kitchen, watching as I cut up mushrooms and searched in the cupboards for a saucepan. I realised that I should have made the filling for the vol-au-vents first of all, before I started the baguettes. Neither of us spoke again, but I was conscious of his eyes upon me all the time. When I moved, he moved, too. He just kept watching. It felt strangely intimate.
‘Harry?’ said Sarah’s voice, and she appeared in the doorway. She looked at me, and the full champagne glass beside me. ‘Are you plying poor Lily with alcohol? Where’s mine?’
Her
‘Well,’ said a familiar voice. ‘You are a sight to behold.’
I jumped. He was standing in the doorway. I wondered how long he had been there.
He was wearing an expensive-looking shirt and jeans. Sarah had gone to change, but Harry Summer really was going to wear jeans to his own party. His hair was glossier than ever, and his high cheekbones and friendly, open smile made me want to stroke his face, though I hoped against hope that he could not tell this by looking at me.
‘Hello,’ I said, feeling the heat rising to my face, hating it.
He walked right over to me, put a hand on my waist and kissed my cheek. I held my breath to make sure I didn’t breathe anything nasty on him, and kissed the air.
‘Now we’ve met properly,’ he said. ‘And we are so grateful that you’re here, Lily. Neither Sarah nor I are much cop in the kitchen, I’m afraid. And look, you’ve nearly sorted us out already.’
His hand was still on my waist.
‘It’s no problem at all,’ I said. He made me feel like the only person in the world who mattered. I knew he must do that to everyone, and that was why he used to be on TV and everyone loved him. My face was sizzling, and I realised that Julia was right: blusher was unnecessary.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘a drink is called for. We can pay you in champagne.’ He looked at my face. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he added. ‘We’ll pay you money too.’ As he went to the fridge, he carried on talking. ‘My brother was extremely taken with you, as you know. A gorgeous young woman walking in on him in the bath is exactly the kind of fantasy he’d come up with, in an idle moment.’
‘Mmm.’ I did not trust myself to speak. He popped the champagne cork, holding it firmly to stop it flying across the room. I had, of course, never tasted champagne.
‘Or, if he wasn’t making it up, I presumed he was massively exaggerating. And then Jasmine took him back and we forgot all about the fact that our cleaner was supposedly a nubile young woman with pre-Raphaelite hair, who was funny too. He even badgered me for your phone number, the scurrilous old goat.’
I reminded myself not to let anything I was feeling show on my face, and I tried to look casual. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I said nothing, and started to set out the vol-au-vent cases on the surface, ready for filling. Harry handed me a glass of champagne, then picked up one of my goat’s cheese concoctions.
I had never imagined that anyone but my poor dead grandparents would ever think I was special. Now Harry was saying lovely things to me, and his brother had wanted my phone number. I wondered what Fergus would have said, had he rung me up.
‘Why can’t I throw things together like this?’ Harry demanded. ‘Or, why can’t one of us? You’d think that out of Sarah and me, one person, statistically, would not be a total disaster in the kitchen.’
‘It was your wife who got all the ingredients,’ I said. ‘And she left me all the recipes. I’m just putting different bits on top of each other. So it is her doing it, really. She’s the statistical winner.’
‘Oh Lord. You’re a diplomat, Lily. What the hell are you doing cleaning houses?’
I thought it was a rhetorical question, and so I did not answer.
He hung around the kitchen, watching as I cut up mushrooms and searched in the cupboards for a saucepan. I realised that I should have made the filling for the vol-au-vents first of all, before I started the baguettes. Neither of us spoke again, but I was conscious of his eyes upon me all the time. When I moved, he moved, too. He just kept watching. It felt strangely intimate.
‘Harry?’ said Sarah’s voice, and she appeared in the doorway. She looked at me, and the full champagne glass beside me. ‘Are you plying poor Lily with alcohol? Where’s mine?’
Her
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